


gently, i trade my heart for yours

by fruitwhirl



Series: peraltiago tumblr prompts [6]
Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Drabble Series, F/M, Hello kisses, after sex - Freeform, kiss prompts, post 502
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-24
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-04-07 05:51:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14074296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fruitwhirl/pseuds/fruitwhirl
Summary: a series of kiss prompts





	1. after sex kisses

**Author's Note:**

> **after sex kisses:** lazy, slow presses. limbs pressed together, chests heaving. soft murmurs about what to do for dinner later, fingers trailing down backs, tracing lazy patterns. b rolling onto their back and a trailing their lips down their neck, kissing their shoulder, their chest, anywhere they can think of, memorizing b.
> 
> what a great way to start out
> 
> title from [a poem by abby s](http://fireandsteelofangels.tumblr.com/post/170408887382)

Their movements have slowed, grown lazy in comparison to the quick, fervent motions of just a few minutes before. They take this opportunity to pull back briefly, let the sweat on their skin cool as they catch their breaths. A quiet buzz in the background from their television lingers, provides the only noise aside from heavy exhales.

It’s in this moment, this post-coital haze where Amy leisurely slings her arm across his chest, pressing languid, open-mouth kisses against his collarbone and his shoulder, that Jake focuses on what’s actually playing on the television, and upon seeing a huge ass scorpion on the screen, realizes that it’s the National Geographic’s   _A Scorpion Tale_ that she had put on nearly an hour ago.

And he can’t help but laugh at the picture of a bunch of little scorpions watching them have sex, and he almost immediately regrets this expression of amusement because Amy groans, pulling away to glance at the screen, then immediately grimaces, which is a humorous sight, considering her lips are still swollen scarlet. “I can't believe the one time you actually agree to watch a documentary with me, you miss all of it.”

“First of all, the way you phrased that makes it seem like you would have rather watched a documentary than have sex.” She doesn’t respond, but the way she avoids his eyes belies the fact that given sex or a documentary, she’d probably choose the latter. After brushing his lips along her slightly damp hairline, Jake continues. “And secondly, there's still like half an hour left, and I've totally been paying attention.”

“Oh yeah? Tell me something about scorpions—” He opens his mouth to respond, but she shakes her head. “—other than the fact that they have stingers and are always venomous.”

“That’s not at all what I was going to say,” Jake huffs. She raises an incredulous eyebrow. “They’re technically classified as arthropods.”

She lowers her mouth to his throat again, nipping at the skin just beneath his jaw before asking, “And what does that mean?”

“That they… have arthritis?”

Amy laughs, her breath tickling at the back of his neck, just below his ear. Her voice is husky, seductive even, as she whispers, “They're invertebrate animals that have an exoskeleton, a segmented body, and paired jointed appendages.”

“Fuck, I can’t believe you made scorpions sound sexy.”

She hums, low, murmurs, “They’re also ovoviviparous, which means that the young are born one by one after hatching and expelling their embryonic membrane, and then the mother carries the brood on her back until they've molted at least once.”

“Ames, I don’t know why the hell you have weirdly specific facts of scorpions memorized.” Despite his best efforts, his heart catches on her words and a smile slips on his face. “But that sexy voice is definitely still getting me going.”

She giggles, and he takes her momentary respite to push her onto her back, switching their positions, so that he can kiss her more fully on the mouth, and Amy sighs something soft, something content. With her hands in his cropped hair, clutching ever so slightly at his roots, he’s just started trailing his lips down her chest when she mentions dinner.

“Well, I’m about to—”

She cuts him off before he can finish his sentence, but the smirk on his face remains all the same. “I was thinking more along the lines of pierogis. Does that Polish place on Gold still deliver?”

He hums against her navel. “I think the number’s on the fridge.”

Nearly an hour later, Amy’s pulling on an oversized NYPD shirt (one of Terry’s, Jake thinks) and boxer shorts—since he can’t bring himself to put on clothes or even move—to answer the door, and she returns to their bedroom with a large, warm paper bag and napkins. Jake’s flipping the channel to a DVR’d episode of _Property Brothers,_ but she just takes the remote out of his hand.

“You need to make it up to me.”

“I mean, I guess we could go for round—”

“That’s not what I meant.” At his pained expression, she grins. “We’re watching a documentary about a bunch of eight year olds in China and their third grade election.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'll probably do all of the prompts at one point!
> 
> also, that documentary i mention at the end is one of my favorite documentaries in the whole world. it's called _please vote for me!_ and it's on youtube, and it's hilarious and just. it's amazing. 10/10 would recommend. 
> 
> feel free to let me know what you thought by dropping a comment below, or head over to my [tumblr.](http://dmigod.tumblr.com)


	2. hello kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **hello kisses:** after long periods apart, these can include a picking up b and spinning them around. fingers pressing into cheeks, palms cupping necks, and breathless laughs when they finally come up for air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> set when jake is released from prison, because amy definitely went down to south carolina to get rosa and jake. no doubt. this is severely unedited, and is definitely not proofread. enjoy.

Jake hates paperwork.

As he meticulously—or as meticulous as he can be at six in the morning after a particularly sleepless night in a holding cell—completes each ultimately unnecessary form, he finds himself wishing that Amy was across from him, ready to scrutinize his work for spelling errors or inconsistencies. Instead, on the other side of this desk is a bored guard with a small brown stain on his collar.

(He thinks that Amy would furrow her eyebrows at the man’s wrinkled shirt, and call his posture atrocious.)

After what feels like thirteen hours of signing an oak tree’s worth of paper, Jake is then moved to another, windowless room where a different guard with a thick mustache (who looks a bit like that asshole from _Orange is the New Black_ ) has him undress so he can strip-search him, which Jake considers idiotic because what the hell would he _choose_ to take out of this hell pit? But after he’s cleared, the man hands him a pair of familiar dark wash jeans and soft flannel that smells suspiciously like the jasmine of Amy’s perfume.

The previous night, she had called him to organize his release and he hadn’t heard her voice in so long he almost missed the part where she explained, quietly and her words sounding strained, that she very likely wouldn’t be able to meet him in the morning because there was so much processing to do with the case. In her place would be Charles, and while he loves the little man with his entire heart, he can’t ignore the peach-pit sitting in the bottom of his stomach.

“You got a girl waiting for you on the outside?”

The question is jarring, not something he expected to hear from the gruff guard who just saw him in his briefs.

As he buttons up his shirt, Jake shakes his head before realizing what the man meant. “I mean, she’s not here right now, but I do, she’s back in New York, you know.”

“She a cop, too?”

Jake just nods in response, then bends down to slide on the same prison shoes he’d been wearing for the past two months, because apparently he could still strangle someone with the laces of his sneakers. After that, the guard avoids making any small talk, and he leads him to the reception area, where the woman with dull eyes and a picture of her dog on her desk stamps a piece of paper, then hands him two twenty dollar bills and a ten.

“Gate money,” she says, before going on to explain the rest of the procedure for his release, before asking if he needs the schedule for the Greyhound, which he politely turns down. Frankly, he wants to get out of here as quickly as possible, since he’s sure that if he stays any longer, Hawkins will somehow find a way to incriminate him again and he’ll be dragged back, his nails clawing at the dirty tile, to Romero and everyone who wants to kill him.

Once the clerk finishes, she flashes him a small smile, and he swiftly stuffs the fifty bucks into his pocket, tucking the book and two photos he had brought underneath his left arm, and restrains himself from _sprinting_ out of those double doors into the nondescript waiting area, ready to see Charles and be crushed in a hug and not be able to escape for a good fifteen minutes.

But there’s no short white man with dyed orange hair that looks nothing like Batali, instead, there’s a small figure in the corner, wearing a cotton t-shirt and doing a crossword puzzle and biting her lip in concentration and his heart leaps to his throat because it’s—

 _“Amy?_ ”

And her head lifts so quickly he thinks she should have whiplash, and her pen and puzzle are abandoned as she stands, smiles so wide he thinks she might split her face in two. They don’t run, because it’s literally four feet of space between them. However, when they collide, he still rocks back a little bit as she winds her arms around his neck and his snake around her waist, the novel pressing into the small of her back. He’s just about to lean down and kiss her when she pulls back just a hair, and for some stupid reason he thinks that she’s about to do something horrible, like break up with him.

But she just shakes her head, cups his face gently with her left hand, smooths her thumb over his cheekbone. “I’m not going to kiss you in a prison waiting room where there’s a penis drawn on the wall behind you. I don’t want that thing staring at me.”

Sure enough, when Jake glances back, there is a relatively large and crudely drawn dick on the wall behind him. “Understandable,” he concedes, but it still takes the clerk clearing her throat for the two to separate, for him to put his book and photos (of _Amy,_ who is right here in front of him) into Amy’s oversized purse when she offers it, for her to slide her hand into his, intertwining their fingers as they walk out the heavy door to the early morning outside, with the sun rising in the east and dusting the sky pink and purple and yellow.

It’s in this moment, when he’s officially a free man, free from that hell hole of a prison, that he wraps himself around Amy again, lifts her up up up (there’s a distinct _clunk_ when her bag hits the concrete), and she’s smiling into his shoulder as he swings her around and around. He thinks that she’s even crying, just a little, and when he sets her back down on the ground, she’s laughing and grinning again, so wide and so bright, with her eyes wet and glimmering, that he can’t help but kiss her.

Without her tall boots, she has to rise on her tiptoes to kiss him, to cup his cheek and open her mouth up to him, but it doesn’t last long because he’s smiling and she’s smiling and they’re just grinning against each other’s lips. When they separate, he presses his mouth against her temple, and his surprise from earlier returns. “Believe me, I’m so happy that you’re here, but I thought Charles was supposed to pick me up.”

“He offered to do my paperwork,” Amy says. Her fingers have moved to rest in his hair.

Jake mocks offense. “I honestly cannot believe that Charles wouldn’t take an opportunity to see me? I feel betrayed.”

She shrugs. “He started saying something about how we're America's dream couple and how it's a Shakespearean tragedy, which isn't even right because tragedies always end in—”

Sue him, he loves her and he missed the way she felt, because he cuts her off with a press of his lips, and this time it’s slower, a little less breathless, and she sighs against his mouth, content. Absentmindedly, his hands slide underneath her shirt, his palms flat against her back, and the warmth of her bare skin is even more assuaging than he remembered.

Slowly, they pull away, but she rests her forehead against his. Her left hand scratches at his patchy beard, and he can’t quite identify which is her ring finger and a small, miniscule even—shit, that’s a total lie; every ounce of his soul, more like it—wants to propose to her right then and there, because he wants to feel the cool metal against his cheek. But then again, October is just two months away. He thinks he can make it that long.

And then Amy whispers, “I missed you,” her breath sweet, her voice almost breaking.

He pecks at her lips. Once. Twice. “I missed you, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hit me up at dmigod on tumblr!


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